


Something Better

by chasu



Category: Persona 4
Genre: Alternate Universe - Normal Life, Cooking, Curtain Fic, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, Humor, Living Together, M/M, Oneshot, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-25 15:43:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4966750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasu/pseuds/chasu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They really weren't that bad." </p><p>Souji tried -- and failed -- to reassure him while they were washing the dishes. Souji with the sponge and soapy water in a basin, Yosuke drying with a cloth, putting the clean dishes on the rack with more of a clatter than they really deserved. </p><p>"They had lumps in them," Yosuke said miserably. Souji laughed, with a <i>splash</i> as he accidentally dropped a glass back into the sink. "<i>Lumps<i></i></i>," Yosuke continued, with every ounce of disgust that he could muster. "And you know what? I don't even know what they were lumps <i>of</i>."</p><p> </p><p>(Souji and Yosuke attempt to adjust to living together, but encounter some unexpected hurdles.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Better

   Yosuke woke up in heaven.

   The room cast in orange light, his vision bleary; it took a moment for Yosuke to register where he was, but when he did, he relaxed back onto the futon, weary and weak. His muscles ached from too much heavy lifting and he remembered, now, why he’d gone to bed not long after sunset after that hasty takeout dinner, and why he was wearing a borrowed shirt, and why, exactly, all of these combined made him feel warm down to the tips of his toes.

   All summer he’d been waking up in the night, sticky with sweat and eyes darting towards the calendar on his wall before he could register that it wasn’t yet time to get up. Even in his sleep, he’d been counting down the days. 

   But this wasn’t the kind of warmth that came with late August, not this time. And there was no calendar in this bedroom.

   Their things were still in boxes - mostly full of Yosuke’s belongings, because Souji didn’t have much, and the majority of them were stacked in the bedroom to keep the living room looking half-presentable, except for the ones they were using as a makeshift dining table and a television stand. The apartment didn’t smell like them yet, but it didn’t matter. The sheets and Souji’s clothes carried the scent of the same laundry detergent he’d been using since forever, clean and familiar, and Yosuke was overcome with a dizzy rush when he realised that from now on, all his clothes would smell like that, too.

   Yosuke woke up in heaven.

   And then he threw an arm around Souji’s waist, pressed a kiss to the back of his shoulder, and fell asleep again.

 

-

 

   When he woke again, it was to whispers and a room that was still dim, but different. Someone – Souji – had pulled the curtains closed, (the old, stained pair that the previous tenants had left behind), shielding them from the harsh sunlight outside, and now he was kneeling beside the futon with a hand on Yosuke’s shoulder.

   "Yosuke," he said, under his breath, and Yosuke groaned in response, squinting his eyes at the blurry image of Souji before him. "It’s morning.”

   This was one thing he hadn’t accounted for. Souji was such a morning person - always the early bird, always the farthest ahead on their walks to school back at Yasogami, always the one to hang up the phone when Yosuke called at night because he wanted to turn in at a reasonable hour. Yosuke, for his part, was never a hundred percent sure what was going on until at  _least_  noon. 

   Such as now, for example. His whole world narrowed down to the fact that his vision was hazy, and something in the apartment smelled  _amazing_ , rich and sweet, and Souji was waking him up before his alarm, which he had never done before. 

   As soon as Yosuke pushed himself into a sitting position, there was a weight on his lap, accompanied by the rattle of a full breakfast tray. Yosuke squinted at that instead.

   On a plate, there were two slices of French toast, stacked, puffy and succulent and dusted with icing sugar. Souji had even taken the trouble to add a few strawberries to the arrangement; three whole ones delicately positioned in one corner, and two halves of a particularly large one placed with the tapered ends touching so that they formed a heart shape in the centre of the top slice. It was almost tacky – and that, Yosuke thought, explained Souji’s hesitance and the way he was shifting a little in Yosuke’s periphery as he waited for him to appraise the meal, but it was also  _cute_. Really cute.

   Yosuke was so preoccupied with wondering if Souji had secretly gone to culinary school instead of high school the previous year that he almost didn’t notice the rest of the tray. On one side of the plate, there was a glass of water with crushed ice, and on the other, a muffin studded with fat blueberries.  

   There hadn’t been blueberry muffins in the kitchen last night. There hadn’t been strawberries, either. Or eggs. And  _definitely_  not icing sugar.

   For a moment, Yosuke was at a loss. And then, still staring at the tray, he blurted out, “I love you.”

   Souji’s laugh sounded equal parts amused and relieved. “I know you do.”

   Yosuke could practically feel the pride radiating from him; he could sense it, from the way Souji hovered there, beside the bed with his hands behind his back as though waiting for Yosuke to do something. To try it, probably. Yosuke didn’t blame him, when he had clearly put so much effort into this, as well as getting up so early to do it.

   "Where did you learn to cook like this?“ With one finger, he lifted a corner of the toast and peeked underneath. There was another set of heart-shaped strawberry halves, hidden like a secret between the two slices. "I know you made those lunches at school, but this is like…”

   Souji waved it off, but he still had that air about him, like the more Yosuke praised him, the less he was able to stop smiling. “It’s nothing, I just watched a lot of cooking shows.” At Yosuke’s disbelieving look, he faltered. “What?”

   "You know it’s not too late to reconsider your course, right?“ Yosuke asked, raising an eyebrow. Souji was studying childcare, of all things, and that was all sticky fingers and chaos: the complete antithesis to the meticulous way the food was laid out, perfect and professional. ” _Cooking shows_.” He shook his head. “I’ve seen cooking shows before, but I can’t do  _this._ “ Exasperated, he gestured towards the plate.

   Souji crossed his arms, mock-critical. "Did you take notes, too?”

   Well, that explained things. Yosuke took one of the whole strawberries between two fingers and picked it up, and then immediately wished he hadn’t. He should’ve waited to take a picture. One of the plate, and another of the way Souji looked right now, still in his pjyamas but wide awake and standing in  _their_  bedroom, his bare feet on  _their_  tatami. The art and the artist.

   Or maybe that was a little extreme. 

   "You were that bored without me, huh?“ Yosuke said, just teasing, as he bit into the strawberry.  

   "I was,” Souji said, oddly seriously. Yosuke caught his eye, and they exchanged a look of understanding. But then, the moment passed, and Souji turned to leave the room, speaking over his shoulder as he did, demeanour light once again. “So if you quit teasing me, maybe I’ll make your lunch today, too.” 

 

-

 

  Half the battle was getting out of bed without waking Souji.

   Yosuke had made careful preparations the night before; such as setting the alarm on his phone for half an hour before Souji’s, and making sure it was switched to vibrate. He set it down underneath his pillow rather than beside the futon, so that when it went, he could smother the sound before reaching underneath to fumble it off.

   The buzzing faded, and the silence of the early morning fell around them.

   Minutely, Yosuke shifted, trying not to dislodge the leg Souji had wrapped around his waist or bump his head with his shoulder. He was pressed close, his forehead pressed against Yosuke’s back but his arms mysteriously absent, likely drawn in towards himself. Of all the nights Souji could have chosen to be clingy… but it only made sense, because until now they’d so rarely had the opportunity to sleep together, and when they did, it was usually Yosuke who initiated the tangling of their limbs in the night. Even in Souji’s unconscious state, he probably felt something amiss. 

   Yosuke wanted to be flattered by that. Instead, he just felt nervous. Waking Souji up would ruin the whole thing, and Souji had managed to get out of bed the previous morning without waking  _Yosuke_ up, so it couldn’t be that difficult. 

   He wiggled himself towards the edge of the futon, in small increments, stopping when he thought he heard or felt Souji responding and then continuing again until he could slide out from underneath that surprisingly heavy leg and roll onto the floor. Then, he stilled, watching Souji’s face for any sign of discomfort.

   Souji was an angel in sleep. It impressed Yosuke, who was not an angel in any way, much less when he was unconscious. Souji wasn’t like most guys; he didn’t toss and turn, or snore, or sweat like crazy, or spread-eagle over the entire futon, the latter of which Yosuke  _supposedly_ was guilty of a couple of times. Souji, though, was remarkably elegant and composed. Even dreaming, he looked impassive, lying on his side with his cheek resting on his hand and his hair only slightly mussed.

   Yosuke always loved to watch the way he woke up. It started with just a minute shift in his expression, and then he’d blink once, twice, three times; and then his gaze would catch Yosuke’s and his mouth would twitch into a little smile, as though he was pleasantly surprised to see Yosuke there beside him.

   Later, Yosuke thought. He’d get to see it all later.

 

-

 

  Yosuke hadn’t expanded his personal repertoire beyond eggs in the past year, but all that meant was that his eggs were probably first-class by now. Still in his borrowed t-shirt and underwear, he headed into the kitchenette, opened the fridge and took two from the carton – and then immediately realised that he had no idea how Souji liked them. Poached, or scrambled? Yosuke looked at the brown, speckled eggs in his hands, contemplating. Maybe Souji was more of an omelette kind of guy after all.  

   But, in Yosuke’s opinion, those were only good with ham, which they didn’t  _have_ , and he didn’t want Souji to feel like he had to eat a boring omelette.

   Which he would, of course. He was in that kind of mood lately: Yosuke could tell. He knew that he could serve one up Chie-style on a plate, and Souji would still eat it all and tell him it was the best he’d ever had.

   Yosuke sighed, set the eggs down on the counter, and attempted to remove the skillet from the cupboard underneath without clanging all the pots together. Souji had unpacked all the kitchenware on the night they’d moved in – which basically amounted to being ten percent Souji’s own and ninety percent what Yosuke had borrowed from his parents until they had a chance to go shopping – and, now that Yosuke thought about it, that probably meant that he was planning the breakfast-in-bed thing the entire time.  

   Emerging with the skillet and turning on the heat, Yosuke made up his mind. He couldn’t prepare anything as cute as the breakfast Souji had made, but he was feeling pretty confident about sunny side up eggs, two slices of buttered toast and – he glanced around for inspiration and found the fruit bowl – a sliced banana. With orange juice. And an orange wedge on the side of the glass.

   When he checked the fridge again, he found that they had no orange juice. Exasperated, he looked again towards the  _five_ oranges in the fruit bowl. What kind of person didn’t buy–?

   Oh.

 _Oh_.

   Yosuke opened the cupboard again and knelt to peer inside, and sure enough, there was a white manual juicer in amongst all the rest of the kitchenware. Yosuke took it out, and turned it around and around in his hands. It was pristine, but had clearly been used before. 

   What had Souji been  _doing_  last year? Running a hotel?

   Or maybe this was something he’d always had, even since he was living with Dojima. Maybe he’d been making fresh-squeezed orange juice the entire time Yosuke had known him, and it had just never come up.

   It shouldn’t have been such an endearing thought, but it was, and Yosuke kept fiddling with the juicer, kept wondering how many little things he still had to discover about Souji.

 

-

 

   "Sunny side up eggs,“ Souji said as Yosuke slid under the blankets beside him, pulling his tray from the floor and onto his lap afterwards. Souji was staring at his own plate, his tray already situated, the yolk of the egg bobbing as Yosuke got comfortable.

   Souji had been awake, but not out of bed, by the time Yosuke finished messing around with the juicer and figuring out exactly how he wanted to present the banana slices alongside the rest of the meal. He could understand why Souji liked doing that so much; when it came to himself, Yosuke tended to just throw his food onto a plate or into a bowl and eat it as it was, no finesse required. But with Souji, he wanted to impress. He wanted to put together something that would brighten his day right from the start.    

  By the time Yosuke picked up his cutlery, Souji still hadn’t made a move. He just sat there, his back against the wall and his arms by his sides, looking more startled than pleased, or… hungry, or however Yosuke had expected him to look. While he was cooking, he’d had this reel of mental images going; Souji eating and joking about how he’d make it up to Yosuke later, followed by one of him pushing the tray away in disgust– Souji clumsily dribbling yolk down his shirt and laughing about it, interrupted by Souji declaring that he had some kind of fatal allergy and was Yosuke trying to  _kill him_ , didn’t he ever  _listen_ …?

   Yosuke felt an unpleasant twist in the pit of his stomach.

   He cleared his throat. "So… you like them like that, right?”  

   "Oh. Yeah.“ Souji smiled at his plate, apparently shaken out of whatever had come over him before. "I’m sorry, of course I do. Nanako used to make them this way back in Inaba.”

   "Your six year old cousin?“ Yosuke snorted. "Thanks. Good to know my skills are at her level.”

   "Hey, she’s eight now,“ Souji said mildly. "And you’re spoiling me, you know.”

   He leaned over, his tray wobbling precariously, to give Yosuke a peck on the cheek and a mumbled  _thank you_  while his lips were still close.

   "Yeah, well.“ Yosuke felt his face grow hot, and there was no way he wasn’t flushing slightly as Souji pulled away. He started on his food, concentrating very hard on cutting his egg  _just_  the right way. "I’m just getting you back for yesterday, partner.”

 

-

 

   Living with Souji was a kind of surreal paradise, and Yosuke thought it may be the new best thing in the world.

   Their first day of classes was chaos, daytime on their separate schedules followed by a hasty takeaway dinner on their makeshift table. Silently, they sat together on the living room floor and attempted to sort through the small mountain of papers they’d been given from each of their classes – “We didn’t get anywhere near enough folders,” Souji had noted, and Yosuke had only groaned in response because that was an understatement, and at this rate he’d need a new bookbag too – and then went to bed early. Souji read by lamplight and Yosuke lay there with his headphones on and watched him, daydreaming, until the novel closed and the lamp was switched off, and then they traded goodnights and goodnight kisses, and Yosuke fell asleep faster than he ever had alone.

   The day after was much of the same. After breakfast, they brushed their teeth over the sink in their tiny bathroom, all squashed up against each other. It was new, to say the least. Yosuke had slept over with Souji before, at their homes and in hotels, but they’d never established a routine. Souji was always up first, done with his morning rituals by the time Yosuke even got out of bed – or, sometimes, by the time Yosuke tempted Souji back  _into_ bed. Through all their extensive talks about how they’d split the rent and the bills, and how they were going to budget groceries in between buying furniture and all the little things they’d need that Yosuke had never even considered having to actually  _purchase_  because in his parent’s house they were always just  _there_ , he had neglected to consider how it would feel to fall asleep next to Souji every night, to have a bathroom with Souji’s toothbrush in a cup with his own, to cook Souji breakfast whenever he felt like it.  

 

-

 

   "Those  _stairs_!“ Yosuke complained the moment he stepped into the apartment. Souji was already home, sitting cross-legged on the floor of the living room, watching the news and eating from a plastic bowl of instant noodles.  _Guiltily_  eating, Yosuke noticed, but he didn’t give it too much thought because all he wanted to do was flop directly onto the floor, and everything else came second to that.

   He made it a little further into the room before he did so, dropping to his knees and then falling with his head near Souji’s thigh, face down, shoes still on. He couldn’t even bring himself to be polite and remove them first.

   "I didn’t know you’d be home so soon–” Souji said, hurriedly putting his noodles down on his other side as though trying to block them from Yosuke’s view. “I would’ve made dinner.”

   "Make–“ Yosuke groaned against his forearm as he blindly toed off one of his shoes. "An elevator. Or robot legs.”

   Souji chuckled, though hesitantly. “It’s that bad?”

   "Yeah, I don’t think college is for me. I need a cushy office job or something.“

   Yosuke felt fingers carding through his hair, futilely brushing strands of it back behind his ear, and the sensation sent tingles down his spine. With his shoes off and Souji touching him, Yosuke felt himself begin to relax, and he sank down ever further against the mat. He had never imagined coming home to this. Even when he’d fantasized about living with Souji before, he’d just pictured an extremely drawn-out version of their sleepovers in high school; the two of them playing video games all night and eating snacks from the convenience store, occasionally tending to their responsibilities, but mostly just messing around.

   It would probably be even better when they didn’t have to sit on the floor.

   Souji hummed, and Yosuke could hear the smile in his voice when he said, "I think you need a degree for a cushy office job.”

   "Mmn. Robot legs it is.“ Yosuke stretched out, curling his toes and wincing at the wave of pain it brought over him. “Ugh. Three days in and I already have blisters. How gross is that?”

   Souji’s fingers stilled. “I could give you a foot massage,” he said.

   "What?“ Yosuke laughed under his breath. "Partner, no, that’s…” He glanced up just in time to see hurt flash across Souji’s face; the kind of hurt Yosuke hadn’t seen since he was a kid and said careless, stupid things in front of Souji all the time, and he propped himself up on his elbow, concerned. By the time he had, Souji’s expression had returned to it’s usual, blank state, but Yosuke kept talking in a rush. “I mean, that’s way too much! I’m all sweaty and everything. You really don’t have to do that.”

   "Then I’ll run you a bath.“ Decisively, Souji got to his feet, his dinner and his boyfriend both abandoned.

   Yosuke sat up, staring dumbfounded as Souji walked across the room without looking back. "Why don’t you just sit with me?” he asked. At Souji’s lack of a response, he added, “Partner?”

   Souji stopped in the doorway and turned around, looking uncertain. “Is that really all you want?”

   “I’ve been looking forward to it all day.”

   “But you aren’t comfortable.” Souji bit his lip. “And I like doing things for you.”

   “I know. I like doing things for you, too, but I’d rather have–” Yosuke hesitated, stopping himself just short of saying ‘a cuddle’. That would be way too needy-girlfriend of him. “Your company. Just that’s enough to… you know. I prefer that.” 

   Silence hung for a long moment, and Souji’s posture seemed to grow just a little less tense. “Are you sure?”

   "Yeah, come over here and eat your noodles,“ Yosuke said, patting the space on the floor beside him, in between himself and the still-steaming bowl, the mat still warm beneath his hand from where Souji’s body had been a second ago.

   The guilt came back in a flash, and Souji glanced at the fridge. "I really would’ve made you something–”

   Yosuke shrugged. “I already ate. And I had a big breakfast.”

   "Okay.“

   Apparently convinced, Souji came to sit down again. He situated himself so close to Yosuke that their knees were touching, and as much as Yosuke tried, he couldn’t detect any trace of lingering upset beneath the small smile that Souji now wore. He even picked his bowl up again, though he offered it to Yosuke first; and he declined, and shifted closer, and there was no fuss this time. 

   "So,” Souji said as he lifted the TV remote, “where do you think we should put the couch?”

 

-

 

   By the end of their first week of classes, Yosuke and Souji had acquired a rice cooker, new bedsheets, matching school keychains, five assignments collectively and, also collectively, a raging headache.

   Souji said he loved his classes, but that didn’t stop them from tiring him out. He got up too early and went to sleep too late, and neither of those things were helped by the fact that he’d already agreed to help a classmate to take her cat to the vet and fix a computer issue one of his professors was having. It wasn’t like he ever complained, but Yosuke still noticed the way he came home with little energy, and seemed to bloom again in the short time they spent together before bed. He was starting to realise how little Souji complained about anything. It made him a big complainer in comparison; but Souji didn’t complain about that, either.

   Yosuke, for his part, found that his body wasn’t coping well with the workload or the sudden caffeine intake. He bought two energy drinks a day and threw the bottles in the trash on campus, making sure that Souji would never see them and then look concerned and say, “Yosuke, you know lemon water has the same effect without the crash afterwards, right?”, and then start sending Yosuke off to class every day with homemade lemon water with actual lemon slices floating in it and like, a mint sprig or something, that’s exactly what he’d do, and Yosuke had no intention of making him waste any more time on things like that.

   They slept most of their Saturday away, wrapped in blankets and talking quietly beneath them, dozing off again in the late morning until Souji got up and came back twenty minutes later with lunch on trays, still in his pjyamas.

   "I don’t think we should get a dining table,“ Yosuke said, and Souji glanced at him, questioning, halting with chopsticks half way to his mouth. "We should eat all our meals right here.”

   Souji answered with a smirk. “We already do.”

   "Like a third of them,“ Yosuke corrected him. "We can do better than that.”  

 

-

 

   After much scrutiny, Yosuke decided that Monday’s breakfast looked just as good as, if not better than, Souji’s French toast.

   Not that Yosuke saw it as a competition – rather, if there was an opposite of a competition, _that_ was what this was – but that didn’t dampen his desire to do well, and he’d scoured the weekend cooking shows for inspiration. He’d even taken notes in the back of the book he was supposed to be using for Economics. Even after all of his preparation, he’d had to get up early to make the juice and cook the eggs and make sure things were arranged just-so.

   But now, walking back to the bedroom with a full tray, it all felt worth it. It was more than worth it. He could do this every day.

   "What,“ Souji said, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as Yosuke sat the tray down on his lap, "did I ever do to deserve you?”

   "Hey–“ Yosuke protested immediately, throwing his hands up in front of him as if to say  _it’s nothing_ , but he didn’t pull away when Souji got a hand on the back of his neck and urged him forward for a kiss. It was chaste, but Yosuke still glowed with the pleasure and pride of it when he was released, and even moreso when he returned with his own tray and found that Souji hadn’t waited for him before he started eating.

   It was definitely on par with French toast. Seeded bagels with cream cheese and smoked salmon, with a side of scrambled eggs. Yosuke had even gone so far as to ignore the exuberant price of chives at the supermarket and added those as well, chopped and sprinkled overtop, and the end result was like something gourmet.

   This time, thankfully, he had remembered to snap pictures of their plates and send them to Chie and Yukiko to brag about next time he saw them.

 

-

 

   Yosuke could do it every day.

   There was something strangely addictive about breakfast in bed, now that they’d indulged in it for a week. What had once been a once-in-a-blue-moon luxury had become an everyday thing he wasn’t planning to let go of any time soon. He had gotten used to the way their elbows bumped together while they ate, because of the close proximity they would never have from opposite sides of a table; the way they washed the dishes together afterwards, kitchenette bathed in the new sunlight; the way Souji acted like Yosuke had donated a kidney rather than put some bread and eggs on a plate, and rewarded him with ample kisses and compliments and had a generally lighter demeanour for the rest of the morning.

   The only thing that seemed to make Souji happier than receiving breakfast in bed was when he made it himself.

   Yosuke’s alarm sounded at five, but he hadn’t been so careful this time. Clumsy with sleep, he blindly fumbled around in the blankets for it, panic rising as his consciousness ebbed in and he realised that he was  _definitely_ waking Souji up with his stupidly loud ringtone that he’d forgotten to disable, and the way he was feeling up the entire futon looking for his phone but he still couldn’t find–

   His phone? Desperate fingers closed around the shape, but when he lifted it up and hit the button, the alarm didn’t stop, and the lock screen showed his own face smiling easily back at him.

   He dropped the phone back into the blankets and sat up, half-frantic. Souji’s phone shouldn’t have been on his side of the bed. The alarm was on it’s third grating loop: Yosuke had already decided somewhere in his subconscious that he was never listening to this song again, his phone had disappeared into the aether and Souji still wasn’t grumbling about the noise. Souji was being very silent, in fact and… and weirdly flat.

   Yosuke slowed, and moved his hand over where Souji should have been. Only lumpy blankets met his touch.

   Gradually, the realisation slid over him that the futon was empty and he was lying in the middle of it, which was why Souji’s phone had been right there and his own was so mysteriously out of reach.

   At five in the morning.

   Yosuke let his head hit the pillow, just as the alarm finally went silent of its own accord. How had Souji gotten out of bed without waking him up  _again_? He must have been a cat burglar or a contortionist in another life, with the way he could slide from beneath the duvet and pad out of the room without a sound.

   When he found the strength, Yosuke got up and headed for the kitchen. He reached the doorway just as the most ungodly sound started up from the other side of it; so Yosuke stopped and listened for a moment, resting a hand on the doorframe and narrowing his eyes, trying to deal with the awful whirring and gurgling noise overwhelming his drowsy senses. There was no way Souji had expected him to sleep through that. He was probably waking the neighbours too.

   The sound, as it turned out, was so loud that when Yosuke eventually opened the door, Souji didn’t turn around or seem to notice him at all. It was the blender. Yosuke hadn’t been aware until now that they even had a blender, but apparently they did and it was going full-speed at what looked, from the contents discarded on the cutting board, like strawberries and bananas, and something that had left a weird yellow smear on the countertop.

   The blender stopped, and Yosuke immediately found himself in a terrible dilemma because he wanted to address Souji without scaring him, and even approaching was risky when he’d made it this far without being detected at all – but  _not_  addressing Souji and then being seen would scare him even more. 

   Yosuke waited. It wasn’t so terrible, to watch Souji pottering around in a brown sweater and little else. It gave Yosuke a chance to admire the strong backs of his thighs, the delicate curve of his neck before it met his mussed hair. He’d been admiring the same things since they met, though not so overtly back then. He was sure that everyone else who knew Souji was the same, he was so worth admiring; the thought made him wonder what Souji’s classmates thought about the two of them, what conclusions they’d jump to when or if Souji called him his ‘partner’.

   It wasn’t until Souji had poured the smoothie through a strainer and into a jug, and set the jug down on the counter, that he cleared his throat. Souji still jumped, but nothing spilled.

   Souji turned around, as though he was expecting someone other than Yosuke to be there. He relaxed visibly after a moment. "Oh,” he said, in greeting, and he allowed himself a tired smile, holding his arms out for a hug. That gave Yosuke pause, but he supposed that was another thing that came with living together, that they would just hug whenever they felt like it, so he stepped forward into the embrace and let himself be wrapped up in it. “You’re up early,” Souji said into his bare shoulder, and Yosuke felt the brush of lashes against his skin when Souji closed his eyes. “Did I wake you?”

   "Almost,“ Yosuke said, peering over Souji’s shoulder at the kitchenette. "What’re you making?”

   "Healthy breakfast.“ He wriggled and pressed himself, somehow, even closer again Yosuke. "I might skip it though. I really need some coffee.”

   "You know lemon water has the same effect without the crash afterwards?“ Yosuke said without thinking.

   Souji pulled back to allow their eyes to meet, his expression disbelieving, though his hands stayed clasped behind Yosuke’s back. "Excuse me?”

   "…It’s five in the morning,“ Yosuke whined, by way of an explanation.

   Souji detached himself and gently nudged Yosuke back towards the bedroom. "Then go back to sleep, and I’ll wake you when I’m done. I’ll try to cook slowly.”

   Leaving Souji in the kitchen while he looked so tired felt like leaving a man behind on an ice floe when there was one seat too few in the lifeboat, but Yosuke couldn’t deny that he was exhausted, and he could already tell from the expression on Souji’s face that he was resolute on being a martyr about this.

   "Wait.“ Yosuke stopped in the doorway, and turned around. He hesitated for a long moment before he said, "Partner?”

   "Mm?“ Souji didn’t even look up from whatever he was doing now. Beating eggs, it looked like.

   "I… kinda missed waking up beside you.”

   He regretted it instantly; it was exactly the kind of talk Yosuke tried to keep to a minimum, because it probably embarrassed Souji to hear it as much as it embarrassed him to say. “I mean– I’m just saying. I thought I should…” Helplessly, he shrugged and managed an awkward, nervous little laugh. “I don’t even know what I’m saying at this time in the morning, you know?”

   "Really?“ Souji asked, wryly, but Yosuke wasn’t sure what he was asking about, so he kept his mouth shut and, at last, went back to bed alone. 

 

-

 

   Souji called after class. It was a little routine they’d gotten into, that phone call, while Yosuke was standing at the bus stop and Souji was, presumably, in the hallway still, because it had always taken him forever to pack his things up at the end of a lecture and finish chatting to the people on all sides before he finally left.

   "Are you going to the grocery store?“ Souji would always ask, usually with some request for microwave popcorn or fresh milk right on the tip of his tongue, instantly followed by on offer to go instead. Yosuke had started saying yes, even when he had no plans to go to the grocery store. Not many things beat the look on Souji’s face when Yosuke came in with a plastic bag of goodies; that mix of hunger, curiosity, and gratitude.

   So Yosuke said yes, and the rain pattered hard against the hard plastic of the bus shelter, and all Souji said was, "Okay.”

   “Okay?“ Yosuke repeated. He covered his other ear with his hand, thinking maybe he’d misheard, from the sound of the rain or the roaring bus approaching or maybe his headphones had finally made him as deaf as his parents claimed they would. "You don’t want anything?”

   "I’m fine.“ A pause. "When are you going?”

   "Now, I guess.“ Instinctively, Yosuke looked at his watch as he stepped onto the bus. It was on time, so Souji could catch the next one in ten minutes, no problem. "Wanna come?”

   Yosuke flashed his bus pass and took the seat closest to the back, pressing his phone hard against his ear to hear Souji over the rattle of moving wheels and lowered voices. "Oh, I can’t, I have to go to the…“ An even longer pause, this time. ”…Gym.“

   Yosuke blinked at the seat in front of him. "The gym?”

   "I mean the library.“  

   "Oh- right! Me too.”

   Yosuke smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand and hoped Souji didn’t hear it.  _Me too_? Yosuke knew when he was being lied to, but that didn’t mean it had to be contagious.

   Souji’s voice came back strained. “Oh, uh–”

   "For the gym,“ Yosuke weakly corrected himself. He could practically feel Souji sag with relief over the phone, even though  _that_  lie practically insulted his intelligence. "So I’ll go to the gym, and you’ll go to the library…”

   "Right. Yeah.“

   "Good.”

   "So… what time will you be at the grocery store?“

   "Six-ish?” Yosuke balled up his hoodie, fashioning a makeshift pillow with it so that he could rest his head against the rain-spattered window. He needed it, to be able to close his eyes and fully immerse himself in regretting what he had just said, soaking it all up like water to a sponge. What was he supposed to do until six? Go to the actual gym? It was two hours from now, but if Souji really cared that much when he’d be at the grocery store…

   "Okay.“ Souji’s voice came back relieved. "I’ll see you tonight.”

   "See you.“

   Yosuke hoped he didn’t sound as tired as he felt.

 

-

 

   ”…Excuse me…“

   "Mmh?” Yosuke responded eloquently, mumbling against fabric. 

   His head was on Souji’s shoulder. One of his favourite places for it to be, all soft and familiar. Actually, not that soft, today; he was a little bonier than Yosuke was used to, but his concern was immediately forgotten when Yosuke realised that he smelled so incredible right now, sweet and perfumed, like how Yukiko used to smell, (and only in his dimmest state of consciousness did he allow himself to remember that he  _ever_  paid attention to Yukiko’s scent–)

   "Excuse me.“ 

   Souji edged away, and Yosuke fought the urge to instinctively follow. He was freezing, his head hurt, and there was nausea creeping up from the pit of his stomach; exactly the circumstances when Souji should’ve been cuddling him with all the affection he had. 

   But he wasn’t.

   Yosuke opened his eyes, blinked dazedly, caught a glimpse of cleavage right beside his face– and promptly veered backwards, smacking the back of his head against the bus window in his panic.

   Suddenly, he was wide awake. His eyes met those of the uncomfortable young woman whose shoulder he’d been sleeping on and, not knowing what else to do, he covered his mouth with his hands and started to apologize into them at a million words a minute.

   "I am  _so_  sorry, I didn’t mean to– I guess I fell asleep and I–” He glanced around, desperately searching for– what? Someone to save him? All he found were the faces of several strangers: some trying not to stare, some openly amused, some stern with disapproval. Behind them, sky was alight with the last dregs of sunset and splintered with storm-clouds beyond it, the inky night setting in, and he just barely recognised the street outside. He must have missed his stop and gone all the way around again at least once, because the bus was now heading in the opposite direction of his apartment. He cringed at the thought. “…I have to go.”

   He abandoned the bus at the next stop and went home in a rush, splattering the bottoms of his jeans with the rainwater as he ran, uncaring, through puddles. Shoving his headphones into his bag and pulling up his hood, trying and failing to find Souji’s number in his phone with slippery fingers on an even more slippery screen. He had to give up and shove that in his bag, too, to prevent any water damage; it was already bad enough that he was planning on submerging it in a bowl of dry rice as soon as he got home, just to be safe.

   By the time he clattered through the front door, night had already fallen and the sky was blue-gold with that hazy city late-evening glow. Yosuke peeled off his shoes in the genkan, and his socks too, grimacing at the cold-damp-sore feeling that still clung to his bare feet and the pools of water left behind on the floor from his dripping hair and clothes. He wanted warm pyjamas, a steaming mug of hot chocolate between his frigid hands, and maybe instant noodles to cozy him from the inside out. But of course they didn’t _have_  that because he’d skipped going to the store and getting the usual instant meals as well as the ingredients for the crepes he’d been vaguely daydreaming about making before he fell asleep.

   Souji would be disappointed, but Yosuke tried not to think about that. The mental image of Souji and his infinite patience, sitting on his knees in the living room, wistfully glancing towards the door, his stomach growling. He was pretty sure he’d seen a soup tin at the back of the cupboard the other day, so it wasn’t like Souji would be  _starving_  waiting for him to get back, Yosuke  _hoped_. At the very least, Souji would’ve given up and ordered a pizza or something.

   And then he would’ve learned not to trust Yosuke too much with any responsibilities, he thought bitterly. He wasn’t like Souji – he couldn’t hold everything together, and actually do the things people expected him to do, when they expected him to do them. He really should’ve warned Souji about that the day they moved in together. 

   Yosuke hesitated before he stepped into the living room. He was in a sour mood, and there was no denying it, and nobody liked the company of someone who was in a sour mood. He would probably end up complaining all night about the people on the bus who didn’t wake him up, and the weather, and how painfully hungry he’d become since he started thinking about food.

   And in the end, his wet clothes would be another load of laundry for Souji to take care of, (yet another of his duties after the time Yosuke had that red-sock incident and had to sheepishly hand Souji his bathrobe back dyed a charming rose colour), and it would be Souji who’d insist on throwing him a home-cooked meal together from whatever they had left in the fridge, and Souji who’d lay the books from his soaked bag out in the airing cupboard while he wasn’t looking, and then he’d kiss Yosuke goodnight like none of it even bothered him.

   There was no noise from inside the apartment except the steady, muffled drone of the television. It was possible that Souji hadn’t even heard him come in. He could just go out for dinner, and stop in somewhere on the way back, get some flour and eggs and lemons and call his mom for her crepes recipe. His gaze lingered on his abandoned shoes and coat, considering.

   But the rain was still coming down in sheets, and the last thing Yosuke wanted to do was go back out in it, so in the end he decided to plaster on an apologetic smile and push open the living room door.

   Souji was there, at least; though dead asleep, on the floor, curled up with his face hidden by a protective forearm, shielding his eyes from the light of the television he hadn’t bothered switching off. Or maybe it was an involuntary action, in sleep, and he’d drifted off to whatever he’d been watching. Slumped sideways and collapsed on the mat.

  They  _really_  needed to get a couch.

   Yosuke all but held his breath as he closed the door behind him. He dreaded a squeak of the hinges or a too-loud click of the handle going back into place. But Souji didn’t stir, only curled up a little tighter, and Yosuke stepped further into the room.

   It was then that he noticed the plastic bag on the counter in the kitchenette, marked clearly with the logo of the grocery store a few blocks away. Untouched since he’d come in, it looked like. 

   Yosuke cheered up a little at that. He could at least do Souji a favour and take care of this one small chore, he decided as he approached, and spent the next few minutes quietly putting the groceries in the fridge and cupboards, and tossing last week’s expired food in the trash as he encountered it. Souji had picked up milk and biscuits and the much-needed instant noodles, some kind of raw white fish that Yosuke raised his eyebrows at, and a few packages of fruit.

   Probably not what Yosuke would have chosen, not that he questioned Souji’s taste. Though, now that he thought about it, it seemed a little presumptuous of Souji to have already been grocery shopping when Yosuke was only a few hours late home, especially when he hadn’t even called first. Yosuke fished his phone out of his still-swollen bag to double-check and, as he’d expected, there were no missed calls or texts or emails or anything at all. For all Souji knew, Yosuke was still at the store, just deliberating for a very long time over yogurt brands or dealing with a credit card problem, so why…?

   Yosuke glanced at the bag again, and his fingers twitched.

   He wasn’t going to be nosey. It wasn’t like him. He was a laid back kind of guy, a type-B personality, and a trustworthy boyfriend to boot. That was the reputation he had, (he hoped), and he liked it that way. He was absolutely  _not_  the kind of person who did crazy things like digging through Souji’s receipts, reaching into the bag and finding that his groceries were paid for at  _five thirty in the evening_ – He knew it! Yosuke crumpled the receipt up and dropped it onto the counter, glancing slyly back over his shoulder to see if Souji had moved at all.

   He hadn’t. He was curled up like a cat, knees drawn to his chest as though his body was trying to create the protective warmth it expected from a blanket. So deeply asleep that he hadn’t even heard the clatter of the front door; he’d wake up with an imprint of the mat on the side of his face later, if Yosuke didn’t do something about it.

   And he  _would_  do something about it, just a soon as he was done with this particular lapse in judgement. He couldn’t help himself. He smoothed out the receipt again and scanned it, suddenly a hundred times more interested in it that he’d been in any other receipt in his life because Souji had  _gone behind his back_  about something, decided to be all sneaky about it, and… Yosuke’s train of thought faltered, when one of the numbers caught his eye.

   He hadn’t known fish could  _be_  that expensive.

   And that was after two years working in the Junes grocery department.

   "Seriously, partner…?“ he mumbled to himself, dropping the receipt back in the bag so he could reasonably pretend he hadn’t seen it, and heading into the bedroom to get Souji a pillow. 

 

-

 

   "They really weren't that bad."

   Souji tried -- and failed -- to reassure him while they were washing the dishes. Souji with the sponge and soapy water in a basin, Yosuke drying with a cloth, putting the clean dishes on the rack with more of a clatter than they really deserved.

   "They had lumps in them," Yosuke said miserably. Souji laughed, with a _splash_  as he accidentally dropped a glass back into the sink. " _Lumps_ ," Yosuke continued, with every ounce of disgust that he could muster. "And you know what? I don't even know what they were lumps _of_."

   He cast a glance towards the trashcan, where the remains of the lumpy crepes were still festering, along with the piece of paper Yosuke had written the recipe down on, thrown in after them in a heated moment when he hadn't known whether to be frustrated with his mother's useless instructions or his own note-taking skills.

   "Actually, I've heard that sort of consistency is good for the digestive system." Souji said. When Yosuke glanced his way, his face split into a rueful grimace, like he didn't even believe what he had said.

   Yosuke shuddered at the memory. "Ugh. Please don't keep me updated." He shook his head, as though he could also shake away the mental image of Souji looking him dead in the eye as he took a forkful of burnt, tragic crepe right into his mouth. "I can't believe you _ate_ that thing."

   "Neither can I." Souji gave him a damp, sympathetic pat on the back that left a wet patch behind on Yosuke's shirt. "Don't worry, though," he added with a small, encouraging smile as he handed Yosuke another dripping plate. "You'll get it right next time."

  
-

  
   The day was long, and longer still when Souji insisted on anchoring Yosuke to their makeshift dining table with a catalogue that evening. Yosuke was well aware that they needed furniture - their things were still in piled boxes, clothes in suitcases, and it seemed like Souji was getting antsy about not having access to his nine billion books because they didn't have a case to put them on. But still, there was a time and a place to debate the pros and cons of fabric vs. leather couches, and a day when he had gotten up at the crack of dawn only to destroy his intended breakfast was definitely _not_ the time.

   Souji dealt with his reluctance with his usual good nature and infinite patience, and it took several full hours of intermittent whining, " _Partner, do we really have to do this_ now?" and " _you're the one who should take the lead on things like this, you know I have no idea_ ", before Souji relented and let him go to bed, claiming that he still needed to look over a few things before he turned in himself.

   Exhausted but restless, Yosuke meandered through his night-time routine. A little bit of wasting time on his laptop, sprawled over the entire futon. A quick shower, after which he brushed his teeth and then settled back down on the futon again with some class notes he'd been meaning to go over all week, as they were supposed to be being tested on the material the next day. After shuffling through them for a while and getting nowhere, he disinterestedly skimmed a few pages of the novel Souji was currently reading, followed by a few minutes of panic when the bookmark fell out and Yosuke couldn't remember where it had been. In the end, he just slotted it back vaguely in the middle and tried to pretend he'd never touched the book at all, crawled under the covers, and killed some time with his thoughts and his mp3 player, closing his eyes and waiting for the futon to dip under Souji's weight when he joined him.

   But it didn't.

   Yosuke switched his playlist to one of his more upbeat ones. He didn't want to fall asleep just yet.

   But Souji still hadn't come to bed by eleven, and by then, Yosuke was beginning to give up hope that he ever would. Was this how married couples felt, when one of them coldly rejected a night wrapped up with their partner and decided to sleep on the couch?

   Since they didn't have a couch, or any spare futons, did that mean Souji was sleeping on the floor again, by choice this time?

   Yosuke stared at the ceiling. He couldn't even ask himself if it was because the crepes were that bad, because they were. But it wasn't like Souji _had_  to eat them. He could have just done what Yosuke had: taken one experimental bite, gagged on it, and tossed the rest in the trash where it belonged. Yosuke thought he had made that clear.

   But there were a number of reasons Souji could be giving him the silent treatment. It wasn't _just_  the crepes - not by a long shot. And he didn't seem at all fazed by Yosuke being impatient about the furniture.   

   Yosuke turned over onto his side. He hated the feeling of guilt, and how it seemed to make him ache from the inside out, sick in his stomach and up through his throat.

   It had seemed like such a good idea at the time. To wait until Souji was fast asleep in the dead of night, and then reach over and switch his phone off, killing the alarm well before it ever had a chance to go off at whatever ridiculous hour Souji had set it to.

   He knew it was dirty, and underhanded, but Yosuke hadn't considered until now that maybe he had crossed a line. Messing with Souji's personal things didn't suddenly become okay just because they lived under the same roof, he supposed, even if he was trying to do a nice thing. Even if it was damn near impossible to make Souji breakfast anymore now that he was getting up at the crack of dawn to beat Yosuke to the punch every single day, and all Yosuke's genuine attempts did was wake him to an empty futon and leave him dozing through his classes because he could never fully get back to sleep after his alarm went off too late.

   And when Souji had woken up, at Yosuke's urging, probably confused and disappointed, it had been to those disgusting crepes.

   Yosuke sighed.

   The thought of Souji sleeping alone in the cold living room made his chest tight. The way it used to feel when he was stuck in Inaba in a single bed and Souji was miles away, and he knew it would be another week or two before they'd have the time and money to see each other again; those long, dry exam seasons when they barely even exchanged texts at the ends of long days and Yosuke felt like their relationship could crumble at any moment.

   And the thought of Souji being angry with him, or hurt by him in some way that was so severe that he would rather avoid Yosuke altogether than sit down with him and fix it, made him want to burrow down under the covers and never leave his bed.

   He turned up the volume on his mp3 player, the light above beginning to sting his tired eyes.

  
-

  
   "Hey."

   Yosuke lingered in the doorway, his headphones still around his neck. He felt, for the first time, like he was intruding in this apartment, like he'd be crossing out of bounds if he stepped fully into the main room of it.

   As though Souji needed the widest possible berth to breathe, to not turn around immediately and bite Yosuke's head off.

   Souji wasn't asleep, this time. All of the lights were on, and he was in the kitchenette, a familiar sight by now. He'd left the catalogue open on the counter, but Yosuke could hear the steady thud-thud of a knife on the cutting board, which stopped when he glanced back at Yosuke's voice, and warmly returned the same greeting. "Hey."

   He was calm. Busy. Yosuke hadn't been expecting that; he approached, feeling less cautious and more stupid by the second. Of course Souji was busy. He was always busy, with the chores he delegated to himself or with the favours he did for other people or studying or seeing his friends -- since when did he ever just sit around and sulk? Yosuke wanted to laugh at himself, but he was distracted when he got close enough to wrap his arms around Souji's waist from behind, rest his chin on his shoulder and peer over it to see what he was working on.

   Swirls of yogurt and granola and fruit in drinking glasses. Souji had a small pile of kiwi fruit slices and a jar of honey beside them on the counter, and he was carefully adding another layer of granola as Yosuke watched, pressing down on it with the flatter side of a spoon to get it even across the top. They reminded Yosuke of art made from coloured sand inside glass bottles.

   He had to ask. "What is that?"

   "They're parfaits. They go in the---" Souji cut himself off with a yawn, pressing the back of one hand to his mouth to stifle it, "the fridge, overnight. So you can get your full eight hours in before your test." Though his mouth was still shielded, Yosuke caught a glimpse of his change in expression at the thought; not quite a smile, but a softness.

   Yosuke hugged him a little tighter, and then a thought occurred to him that _absolutely_  came with a smile. "So... what you're saying is, you're making breakfast before we've even gone to bed?"

   Souji didn't comment. He was distracted, drizzling honey over a layer of yogurt in one of the glasses. Or maybe he just wasn't ready to accept how ridiculous he'd made things -- _they'd_  made things -- that they were both losing sleep over breakfast. Over parfaits.

   Yosuke tried a new angle. "Wow. Who knew you were so competitive, huh?"

   "Competitive?" Souji tilted his head to the side in question. "It's just more convenient this way, isn't it? We can sleep later, and we can wake up at the same time, like you said."

   "...And you get to stay up all night making them."

   "It's not late," Souji said, without looking at his watch or the digital clock on the oven or anything but the wedge of strawberry he was trying to slide neatly into place.

   "It's kinda late." A tiny, sleepy hum of denial came from Souji's throat. "So what's the matter?" Yosuke teased. "Don't you wanna sleep with me?"

   That, at last, drew out one of Souji's smiles. The uncontrollable kind that barely spread at all but still made Souji glance back over his shoulder so that Yosuke could see it, his wry amusement in all it's glory. "You know I do."

   "So why don't you prove it?"

   Souji's hand slipped, dipping one fingertip directly into a glob of yogurt, pushing a kiwi slice out of place. Yosuke felt his distress, the sudden tension in his body as he hurried to fix his mistake. Distractedly, he said, "I just have to finish these."

   "So you'd rather cook than go back to your comfortable, soft futon..." Yosuke put a needy spin on his tone, a mock guilt trip that had Souji groaning, no doubt imagining how comfortable and soft his futon really was, the way the blankets would just swallow up his tired body. "...Which I kept all warm for you, by the way."

   "You're such a tease." Despite his chastising, Souji motioned for Yosuke to detach himself and then put the parfaits in the fridge, apparently still unfinished. No doubt Yosuke would see them the next morning with a garnish on top and an accompanying side dish, but he couldn't think too much about that when he felt almost as drained as Souji looked. 

  
-

 

   Bed really was inviting. Souji settled underneath the blankets without even removing his clothes, and Yosuke swiftly decided that he was okay with that, because there was no harm in sleeping in jeans and Souji looked like he cared more about lying down than the inevitability of seam- and button-shaped imprints on his skin tomorrow.

   Yosuke switched out the light and crawled in after him, but neither of them slept.

   When he finally decided to speak again, it was because twenty minutes had passed and Souji was staring at him, his pupils blown wide and captivating in the darkness, making no effort to hide that he, too, was still awake.

   "Hey," Yosuke mumbled, reaching out to brush Souji's hair back for no reason other than because he could. "You know we have to stop doing the breakfast thing, right?"

   He watched Souji's face carefully for any change in his expression, any indication that he might take the statement the wrong way. On the tip of his tongue, he had a lecture ready about how their new routine was a drain on their physical and possibly mental health, all primed and polished in his mind and more than ready to convince Souji that they would be better off eating in the cafeteria until things calmed down; but he didn't have to say anything more because, reluctantly, Souji nodded his agreement.

   "It didn't exactly go according to plan."

   That caught Yosuke's attention, woke him up a little bit, and he raised his eyebrows. "You had a plan?"

   "I just wanted to do something nice for you for once." Souji shifted as though the topic was making him physically uncomfortable. "I took things for granted all the time when we lived in Inaba," he explained, averting his gaze with a barely-there frown. "I never brought you lunch at work, or ran baths for you when you came over. I didn't even call you just to see how you were. And then suddenly I had to leave, and after that, those were the only things I ever wanted to do." He burrowed down deeper beneath the covers, pulling them higher around his shoulders, and guiltily, he smiled. "And I got _so_  carried away."

   The admission made something twist in Yosuke's gut, and it took only a moment for him to place it as familiarity. He'd never had the specific urge to buy expensive fish and cook it for Souji while they'd been living apart, but it was almost embarrassing, the number of times a day he tended to drift into daydreams about the two of them curled up and watching TV, or studying together, or having conversations over the phone where he wasn't constantly a hair's breadth away from breaking down entirely and telling Souji how much he missed him, but then thinking better of it at the last minute, always feeling the weight of what they weren't saying.

   Yosuke inched closer and closer until their foreheads were pressed together, a gesture of comfort that made his heartbeat slow, to know that Souji was so close and wasn't going anywhere. He hoped it went both ways. "Long distance is the worst."

   Souji hummed his agreement, and hooked a leg over Yosuke's waist. "Let's never do it again."

 

-

 

   "This was such a good idea," Souji said when they were at the bus stop by their apartment, huddled in coats and hands in pockets, the chilliest day since February and way too early in the morning for Yosuke believe that anything in his life had _ever_  been a good idea, but especially not eating out for breakfast on a day where they both had morning classes. Some of the people around them had briefcases in hand; some of them had school uniforms. The day was new and crisp and beautiful.

   Souji was wide awake. Yosuke was also awake, physically, but he'd dozed in the shower and his brain was still clearly not ready to catch up with the rest of him; all he could do was cross his arms and lean against the shelter, eyes half-lidded, and give a half-hearted agreement. "It sure was." 

   "I wonder what I should order," Souji mused. "What do they have that's good?" 

   "Eggs," Yosuke said, too tired to elaborate any further. 

   "I'll get those, then." Souji glanced up and down the street. The bus was nowhere in sight, but it didn't seem to dampen his mood any; Yosuke always felt mildly betrayed when he was feeling under the weather and Souji wasn't, because they were on the same side of the things ninety-nine percent of the time and it just made Souji look weirdly chipper, his attitude sunny in comparison. When Souji added, "We haven't been on a breakfast date before, have we?", Yosuke momentarily forgot who he was talking to and expected a flirty giggle to follow it, Rise-style. It didn't, though; Souji just looked at him half-expectantly, half-blankly.  

   "I don't think so," Yosuke said, non-committally. It always seemed to be lunch or dinner out, room service, breakfast in bed...

   Souji went quiet for a moment, hovering, and Yosuke only had to wait a few seconds to find out what was on his mind. "Well, since I asked you, let me get it this time, okay?" 

   Yosuke gave him a look that he hoped said, _Are you kidding?_

   Souji glanced up and caught it, and understanding flashed across his face.

   "...Or we could split it," he conceded, and Yosuke nodded his muted approval. 

 


End file.
